


Day 13 Piano

by Azazel



Series: 30 Day Prompt Challenge [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Political Animals
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, implied prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azazel/pseuds/Azazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock meets the kid who has been coming into his bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 13 Piano

Day 13  
Piano

Rumlow watched the kid walk into his bar and gravitate toward the piano, drifting like he was being pulled by invisible strings. He had come every night for the past week and every night was the same routine, go sit at the piano and play until some stranger came along with a cheap line and a free drink. The kid didn’t seem to have a preference for men or women, he went with whoever approached him first. They would usually hang out at a table for a while before disappearing. Sometimes the kid would come back alone twenty or thirty minutes later to repeat the pattern.

No matter what the kid played it always sounded sort of sad but maybe that was just the way he watched his hands while he played. His eyes always looked a little vacant, a little glassy. Rumlow was almost positive the kid was high as a kite most of the time. Normally he would have chased an obvious prostitute out of the bar, especially one who was plainly a junkie, but he couldn’t deny he liked listening to him play. Or that he was easy on the eyes.

Tonight, however, the kid threw Rumlow a curveball. Instead of sitting when he reached the piano he brushed his fingers over the keys and kept walking, coming to the bar. Swiveling his barstool a bit the kid waved at Rumlow. 

“What can I get you?”

“Scotch, rocks, please. Top shelf.”

“I’ll have to see some ID.”

The kid blinked big, glossy blue eyes at Rumlow for a moment like the request confused him. Huffing a breath through his nose that sounded somewhere between amused and annoyed he reached into his pocket for his wallet. Sliding his ID out he slapped it on the polished bar. Rumlow reached for the piece of plastic and nearly dropped it and backed up a step. The kid – no, TJ, as in TJ Hammond son of the Secretary of State – didn’t even look smug. His eyebrows were slightly raised in challenge and his jaw was set, ready to argue. Rumlow just shook his head and passed the ID back then reached for a bottle of single malt. 

Glaring TJ muttered, “None of them think I’m really him. But they like fucking me because they want to believe I am.”

Rumlow leaned his elbows on the bar, invading TJ’s space but just a little, and quirked his lips into an approximation of a smile, “You got no reason to lie to me so why shouldn’t I believe you?”


End file.
